


Hard To Ignore

by Lliyk



Series: Frostburn [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Inspired by Music, Non-bending AU, Office Sex, POV Zuko (Avatar), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lliyk/pseuds/Lliyk
Summary: Katara Kyason is not what he expects.She’s too perfect, and she makes him itch with dangerous ideas from behind the glass walls that make up his office.He tells her as much, when he starts asking her to stay late every other evening so that he can crack apart the shell of her work persona and get to the begging, needy, wild thing he knows lay underneath.Tonight is one of those nights, and the contrast of who she was when she’d absently walked past his open office door for the first time today, an hour ago, sauntering off purposefully in a pair of stilettos he’d yet to see — versus who she was now — bent over his desk chair, skirt hiked up and ass in the air — makes his blood sing, loud and hot.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Frostburn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007067
Comments: 12
Kudos: 110





	Hard To Ignore

**Author's Note:**

> more smut for the weary soul. i _promise_ i’m writing the things, i just need a break and _i don’t know how to take those_ , especially since classes are around the corner again. so, uh. we have this now instead.
> 
> this lil fic is related to [Lyk Dis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163724). for your reading pleasure, i _did_ write this to a song to which the punctuation ~mostly~ fits: [Amy, Amy, Amy by Amy Winehouse](https://open.spotify.com/track/603FH2sLZj6p8zgl4UPkmu?si=amhAbpVRQdamxXdYtQXBYg). 
> 
> such a jam. i’ll probably end up writing another to it at some point lmao. okie, bye now

* * *

Katara Kyason is not what he expects.

At work she is diligent and focused, so put together that it derails him for weeks. Her interactions with him on the cubicle floor are never anything short of such total professionalism that he often wonders how she manages it. She listens with that steady, sure level of attention that people who care about their work have. She corresponds with cool decorum in group settings. She acknowledges him with collected poise. She sits next to his uncle at meetings and meets his gaze unfalteringly. She’s a star at her job, and a clear asset to the company.

She never says no to dinner, but she _never_ lets him take her home.

She’s too perfect, and she makes him itch with dangerous ideas from behind the glass walls that make up his office.

He tells her as much, when he starts asking her to stay late every other evening so that he can crack apart the shell of her work persona and get to the begging, needy, wild thing he knows lay underneath.

Tonight is one of those nights, and the contrast of who she was when she’d absently walked past his open office door for the first time today, an hour ago, sauntering off purposefully in a pair of stilettos he’d yet to see — versus who she was now — bent over his desk chair, skirt hiked up and ass in the air — makes his blood sing, loud and hot.

 _“‘Tara, ‘Tara, ‘Tara...”_ he growls in reprimand with every relentless, measured thrust of his hips. She moans for him, and her name spills out in another litany. _“Katara, Katara, ‘Tara_.”

He doesn’t remember when he’d started saying her name so freely. Maybe when he’d noticed how the sound of it seemed to make her beg for him more.

“Harder,” Katara pleads and gasps. “Zuko. _Harder._ ”

Zuko groans. “Always. Fucking. _Perfect_.”

Her heels are red bottomed, the points as shiny black as the rest of her skewed outfit. _Agni_ , she makes him weak. His fingers slide almost lovingly through the silky texture of her mahogany tresses, only to grip tightly at the roots in order to crane her neck roughly to the side. Swirls of red ink peek at him from where the shoulder of her top has slipped, and he watches her muscles flex and bunch in time with her sharp inhales.

The sight of her — gloss smudged, hair tangled, panties pushed aside — makes his balls tighten in wonderfully pained pleasure.

“ _Perfect, perfect, perfect._ ” Zuko rambles, his voice catching in crescendoing notes as Katara’s walls flutter around his aching cock. “ _Beg_ for it, Katara. _Katara_. _Katara._ I said _beg_.”

“Wanna cum—” Katara snaps her hips back to meet his thrusts, the taut curve of her ass glistening with the work and making his mouth water with every little bounce. Slick, wet, tight, _perfect_ little — “Zuko, Zuko, _Zuko—_ ”

With a snarl he hooks his arms under hers, holding her up to him so that her hands scramble for the edge of his desk and her feet dangle just out of reach from the floor.

“ _Oh_ , fuck. _Yes_.” Zuko almost agrees, but curses aren’t what he’s after. He snakes an arm around her, holding her bowed and firm so that he can hook his fingers over the lace of her underwear and watch it snap against her ass. Katara lets out a long mewl as he takes his palm to her cheek. “ _Yes,_ Zu _—fuck_. _Don’t stop_.”

Zuko pops her again, watches with unbridled satisfaction as her pretty umber skin starts to smart with red.

_“Yeah. Yes. Yes.”_

An indignant growl pours out of him. How many times did he have to tell her? He moves Katara like she weighs feathers, lets her catch herself on the flat of his desk while he secures both hands into the curling waves of her hair. 

“Katara.” Zuko sucks in a ragged breath and rolls his hips, groaning at the sound of wet skin on wet skin. “I.” _Snap._ “Said.” _Snap_. “ _Beg._ ” _Snap!_

“Zuko, Zuko, _Zuko_!” _There_. “Please, Zuko,” Katara’s whine is throaty and high, taut with the way he has her arcing for him. _Please_ sends bolts of electricity scoring down his spine, just so, _so_ fucking good, each and every time he manages to get the word out of her mouth. She never says it during work. Never says it right away. Always makes him drag it out of her, and only ever when she was most desperate. A needy thrill scatters his breath, robbing him of his rhythm as Katara sings the plea again. He’s going to spill — long and hard and _all fucking over_ her pretty little skirt — but _not_ before he’s got her cumming for him on his cock.

A startled moan falls out of Katara’s mouth when he lets his hands from her hair to her shoulders and promptly presses her over the top of his desk. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ she looks good like that. Her fingers move to grip at the edge, not at all unlike the first time he’d had her here, after she’d so swiftly unbuttoned his slacks and out her mouth on him, _fuck, fuck, f_ “ _—ucking hell_ , girl.” 

“Don’tstop. _Please_ , I—” 

Zuko groans, long and low. “Katara—” _Please_ , “ _Katara.”_ _Please!_

Katara bucks under his frame, a shudder and a shiver as her fingers push into her hair, only to pull at it herself as she convulses over him. His loins tighten at the sight of her, ruined and wrecked and a sopping slick mess, just for him. Because of him.

Orgasm hits him, hard and sharp. It punches the air out of his lungs, and he slips out just enough to let long streams of spunk decorate the hem of Katara’s skirt. He moans through gritted teeth, pleased, when it dribbles down the tempting swell of her ass and down the line of Katara’s shaking inner thighs. Her core winks at him, fluttering, pulsing, dripping his release over her swollen, glistening folds.

It’s mesmerizing, and it’s the very exact reason why he’s such an angry, _hungry_ mess all the time during work hours. He sees her, and all he can think about is how she looks like _this;_ worn out on him, by him, blue eyes following his movement in a post-cotial haze and looking as ravishing as he well made her.

Zuko gets her clean off of his desk, smirking to himself and the wild mess that is now her hair and the wrinkled, cum-stained fabric that is now her outfit.

“Better,” Zuko mutters, stealing a kiss once she stands before him. He commits the look of her to memory, and then wonders what she’ll want for dinner today.

Katara raises an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes.” A rumbling, teasing laugh falls out of him. “You _do_ beg, don’t you?”


End file.
